


respite

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Flash Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 03:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10234601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It was after and Ephraim lay on the chaise of the chamber he'd claimed of Askr Castle, where he collapsed a day ago and slept and slept and slept, pleased.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'm really here for this FIRE EMBLEM MANSION deal
> 
> hopefully ephraim died on a bed for like a week before lucina thoroughly destroyed him

It was after and Ephraim lay on the chaise of the chamber he'd claimed of Askr Castle, where he collapsed a day ago and slept and slept and slept, pleased. Now cleansed of the grime he has proclaimed his thorough exhaustion, but the delight in his eyes betrays him as he recalls every detail of the gauntlet to his sister, who cried more at his victory than she did at her loss.

"But I must tell you, Eirika," he is saying now, urgent, "far worse than our battle was the bath that followed."

"How awful to be clean," she says, rolling her eyes. It's a conversation they've had before: Eirika on her distaste for most battles, then Ephraim on the joy for which she must search in them ("Perhaps more accessible to the male mind, dear sister, but then I am certain L'Arachel could readily find it"), Eirika's quip at his meatheaded wisdom, and then Ephraim again, on how the _true_ problem was the vanity he was expected to uphold when the fun was over (but at least, even in Askr, there are the maids).

"You cannot imagine the state of my clothes," Ephraim continues. Merely thinking about Chrom must have his adrenaline going; she can expect no restraint on the rapidity of his thoughts.

"For sure." She _can_ imagine it, though; she hugged him. And it was a friendly battle, so unfortunately she's beheld worse. But he's having fun and she's tired from waiting for his recovery; being bothersome can wait.

"Blood, of course," Ephraim says. "And sweat, and your tears—"

Eirika snorts, "And yours."

He chokes—alarmed she is immediately beside him, except that he is biting his lip with ferocity, his tremors from withholding the laughter that strains. "And—and mine! Gods, don't make me laugh, it hurts!"

Then she's laughing, too, pulling back with relief. She tucks her hair behind her ear, crosses her arms, and says, "This, the Restoration King."

"It is I," he agrees, face alight. Then he shifts, slowly, to allow for more room on the chaise, and pats the vacant space. "Now tell me, Restoration Queen: how was your fight with Princess Lucina?"

"What," she says, taking it, "to scope out your next opponent?"

"To hear from my sister," he says, simple.


End file.
